Texting and Forthcoming Admissions
by Outakurebecca
Summary: The most difficult cases are the ones that seem to be the most ordinary. Such as Sherlock's relationship with John.


Based on a rp with the wonderful PennyStarling17. She is the Sherlock to my John. For once it was me inducing the angst, and now that I've tasted blood, well. Enjoy! -OutakuRebecca

((I'm fine, Sherlock. Just dealing with a pesky condition called having emotions. JW))

((John, get off your computer and come to the morgue. We've got a case. SH))

((I haven't got any cash for a cab, it'll take me a sodding long time to get there. I'm crippled, remember? JW))

((Two words: psychosomatic limp. SH))

((So I'm told. JW))

((Good. Come quickly. SH))

((If inconvenient, come anyway. SH))

((I'm on my way. What's so important about this one? JW))

((Two triple homicides that occurred two days apart. It's Christmas! SH))

((Bloody hell. I left the holiday stockings in the flat. JW))

((Leave it and hurry up! SH))

((I've almost run into several misplaced street lights while texting and hurrying. Patience! JW))

((Crime waits for no one, John. SH))

((You've probably already solved it, git. Ten minutes is more than enough for you. JW))

((True, it was the brother of the first victim. Dinner? SH))

((Fine. Should I stay my course or turn around and limp to the other side of London? JW))

((You're not far from Angelo's. Meet me there. SH))

((It's a race, then. JW))

((Isn't it always? SH))

((What's the prize? JW))

((What it always is. SH))

((Remind me? JW))

(('A kiss, Sherlock. I won fair and square.' SH))

((When was this?! JW))

((Two months, four weeks, eighteen days, and sixteen hours ago. SH))

((Must have been monumental for you to have not deleted it for that long. How drunk was I? JW))

((Not very. SH))

((Wait, was that...? Never mind. I'm here now. JW))

((John? SH))

((Looks like I won! ...yes? JW))

((Look like. SH))

"Hello, John."

John jumped and turned to see his flatmate standing close behind him.

"Sherlock! Don't do that, Jesus."

"My apologises, John," Sherlock murmured as he leaned down to kiss John's cheek.

John felt heat gather on the tips of his ears. "Ah, I remember now," he said. "And apology accepted. Hungry?"

"Not in the slightest." He pulled off his coat and sat across from John. "But let's have dinner anyways." Sherlock gave John a meaningful look.

John was unable to decipher said meaningful look. "Right," John sat across from him, noting the 'romantic' candle already on the table.

*Somewhere far away (America), Irene Adler sighed and shook her head. "Where did I put John's number?" she asked herself as she readied a text to send him. She found the slip with his number on it and sent him ((Dinner, Dr. Watson. He means _dinner_. IA))

((Who- how did you get my number? JW))

John set his phone down on the table forcefully. "Sherlock, why does a wanted criminal have my personal cell number?"

((Now that would be telling Dr. Watson. IA))

"Which wanted criminal?"

John put his head in one hand and passed Sherlock his phone.

Sherlock glanced briefly at the phone and smirked. "Ah."

"Tell me this wasn't your doing," John sighed. He looked up at Sherlock's amused face.

"Hardly. She must have copied the number when we last met." Sherlock leaned back in his chair.

((To what do I owe the text, Miss IA? I'm sure your name is a trigger for the gov to read my texts, so I'll refrain. JW))

John nodded, his chance to inquire cut off by the appearance of Angelo.

Sherlock watched John order as a chime alerted him to John's newly arrived text, obviously from Irene.

((He doesn't want to eat with you, Dr. Watson, but I'm sure he does want to _eat_ you. IA))

John saw the screen light up, but was distracted by an enthusiastic story by Angelo.

((Think, Dr. Watson. What was I always inviting him to? IA))

A second chime. Interesting.

Angelo finished his tale and waved before returning to the kitchen. John tried not to seem eager to get to his phone. He set it down just as fast once he'd read them.

"What did she say?"

"She's eating dinner too, what a coincidence," John said with an attempt at casual.

((Liar, liar, Dr. Watson. IA))

"Hmm..." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

((Do you have bugs in Angelo's?! JW))

((I have them everywhere, Doctor. IA))

((Focus though! Dinner, John. IA))

"So," John said, stashing his phone in his pocket. "Tell me about the case?"

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Two triple homicides only two days apart. The brother of the first victim in the first set of three killed her because he needed money. He killed the other two to make it seem like a random attack, as they were close by. He killed the next set of three to make it appear as though there was a serial killer on the loose and to cover his tracks."

"Must have been a pretty messed up bloke to kill six for some money. Or it was a lot of money. Both?" He was relieved that they abandoned the previous conversation.

"Over 2500 pounds," Sherlock said absently. "The texts, John?"

"It's really nothing of importance-"

Another chime.

((For God's sake, just kiss him! IA))

John pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping a firm grip on his phone in case Sherlock tried to distract him and grab it.

((He'll get it from you anyways, Dr. Watson. IA))

"John?" Sherlock frowned.

John took a deep breath. "She seems to think I'm infatuated with you."

((Of course you are. He's infatuated with you too, Doctor. IA))

Sherlock quirked his lips. "And you think...?

"I think I'd know something like that!" John kept his voice down, but spared nothing with the conviction in his tone.

He glanced at his phone, but the screen had already gone dark, he wasn't sure what Irene had to say to him now.

((So sure are you, Doctor Watson? IA))

"Hmm..." Sherlock shot him an unreadable look and took a sip of his water.

"She doesn't have to tell me," he muttered to himself, sitting back in his chair.

Sherlock nodded absently in response.

John sighed and read the texts he had been pointedly ignoring. He almost choked when he read one of them. "She thinks the same about you," John's eyebrows were well into his hair line, unable to look away from the words on the screen.

"She's right, of course," Sherlock murmured.

A chime came from Sherlock's phone. ((Aren't I always? IA))

"Hang on, what?" John's phone was quickly forgotten.

Sherlock sighed in complete exasperation. "I said she's right, John." He glanced down and smirked at her text, quickly typing out a response.

((89.3% of the time. SH))

"About me... or...or about you?" John asked. A part of him wanted to be annoyed at Sherlock using his phone, but it was the only thing normal about this conversation.

((About time you two figured yourselves out! IA))

Sherlock answered as he responded to Irene's latest text. "Both. Do keep up, John."

((How long have you been waiting for this exactly? SH))

"You're both having me on," John decided. He shook his head slightly and glanced off to the side.

"I'm not one for practical jokes, you know."

"I know that. And I also know you're married to your work. You told me so at this very table," John had the expression of someone who had just cited damning evidence.

Sherlock rose an eyebrow. "And are you not a part of my work, John?"

John thought about that. "Does that make me some kind of perk that comes in the job description?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you just 'some kind of perk' would I be taking you out on dates?"

"Dates? I'd hardly-" John stopped abruptly and fixed Sherlock with a look. "You... you've thought we were together this whole time."

Sherlock frowned in confusion. "Of course."

"Sherlock," he said. "That's a mutual decision. I don't know what made you think-"

John snatched his phone back.

((What have you told him? JW))

((The same thing I told you, Doctor Watson. IA))

In the midst of the confusion, Angelo appeared with John's food.

A chime came from Sherlock's phone.

((You should just kiss him if he still doesn't believe you. IA))

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sent her, ((Thank you for your input. SH))

Sherlock's dish was set in front of him like an afterthought.

"I'm sorry that we didn't clear this up sooner, Sherlock," John stated. He hoped they could still salvage a pleasant dinner conversation. Even if it wasn't a 'date' conversation.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as John's phone chimed.

((Must you be so cruel, Doctor Watson? IA))

((It's the truth! Isn't it better for him to know now? JW))

To make things worse, Angelo also produced a bottle of wine.

"Complimentary for the couple!" He winked.

((He spent three years trying to find his way back to you without endangering your life. Three years in mostly complete solitude. And now you're breaking his heart? Dear me, Doctor Watson. IA))

Sherlock looked away from Angelo and John, glaring out the nearby window.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly, afraid of what he had done.

Sherlock refused to turn to him.

"Sherlock, I..." John huffed in frustration. "You could have asked."

"Asked what, John?" his voice was completely devoid of emotion.

"If we were, if I was-" He wet his lips. "I didn't even know you could feel that way about anyone. I've always known you've had a heart, but-"

"But what John?" Sherlock shot up and glared at him, anger barely covering up the hurt in his eyes.

"I didn't think you'd give it to me to that extent." John refused to look away.

"Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't!" Before John could reply, Sherlock had snatched up his coat and disappeared from the restaurant.

"Sherlock, wait!" John got up and dashed after him, limp forgotten.

It was too late though, Sherlock was already gone.

"Shit!" John cursed, banging his fist on the door frame of the cafe.

* * *

Sherlock leaned against the side of a bridge as he held his head in his hands. A chime from his phone alerted him to the fact he had a text.

((Running away never solves anything. IA))

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. ((Thank you for your input. SH))

John made slow progress back to the flat. Their almost-diner was in a box under his arm. He didn't expect to see Sherlock tomorrow at the soonest. This wasn't a petty 'no-severed-body-parts-in-the-salad-bowl-argument' 

The start of several possible texts formulated in his mind, but none of them were sufficient.

((I'm sorry that I can't [message deleted]))

((If you had told me, we could have [message deleted]))

((You can't expect me to pick up on things like you do! I'm not [message deleted]))

((Whatever you do, don't get into a sulk, we need to sort [message deleted]))

Sherlock stayed on the bridge late into the night, ignoring each chime that alerted him of another text.

He really didn't want to talk to anyone.

(Unread texts)

((Sulking doesn't become you, Mr. Holmes. IA))

((What are you doing? MH))

((Mycroft is looking for you. Lestrade))

Mrs. Hudson was there by the time John had barely climbed the first step. "Package for Sherlock, love," she said. "The girl who brought it by was quite sweet and I thought I should give it to one of you directly."

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson," John put up a glum effort to be cheery. He spotted a note on the package as he took it the remaining sixteen stairs up to the flat.

It read-

Sherlock,

Are you sure this is safe? I'm sure it will come in handy on some upcoming cases, but (a large portion was scribbled out) be careful.

-Molly

Sherlock scowled at his phone when he finally looked at his unread messages.

((To: Lestrade: Tell Mycroft to piss off. SH))

((Stay out of it, Irene. SH))

((To: Mycroft: Piss off. SH))

John set the package on the table. He considered take-out boxes for a minute, then decided he wasn't in a mood for much of anything. He flopped them on the table beside the package and trudged up to bed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the next text.

((Very mature, Sherlock. Now, what are you doing? MH))

((Investigating how much cake can be eaten before someone explodes. Care to help? SH))

John got into bed, but couldn't sleep. He gave it a good effort, but his head just wouldn't stay in one place.

He gave up and wandered back down to the kitchen.

Mycroft didn't respond to the text, so Sherlock counted it as a victory and start back towards Baker Street.

Perhaps eating would settle his nerves. John retrieved a real fork, one of the few that were clean, and opened up his meal. It was cold but still decent.

He couldn't help but noticed that something smelt off about the place. He shrugged and finished his entrée.

Sherlock sighed when he saw how late it was. No matter how... angry?... upset?... he was with John, he still didn't want to worry him. He quickened his pace.

John found his thoughts drifting. How had Sherlock thought they were together? It was hard to believe that anything they had done together was romantic in a traditional sense. Hazy memories flitted slowly across his eyes. It's like a movie, thought John as his head sank slowly to rest on the table. The smell had definitely gotten stronger.

Pausing outside of 221 Baker St, Sherlock silently debated with himself before unlocking and pushing open the door.

A yawn echoed around John's head. He imagined the word 'yawn' with cartoon wings flapping lazily around his head and giggled.

Sherlock jogged easily up the stairs to his flat.

"Package for you, Sheeerloooock," John slurred when he heard him at the door. His head was heavy. Much too heavy to lift off the table.

"John?" Sherlock frowned as he stepped closer.

"Yeah, that's me!" John snorted a laugh. There was a puddle forming at the corner of the package.

"John," Sherlock manhandled him away from the package and towards his chair. "How long were you near the package? Did Molly give it to you?"

"Nooo, she gave it to yooou," John gave him a concerned look that lost all its seriousness when he started playing with his own nose.

Sherlock sighed and went into the kitchen to get a pitcher of water.

"Sorry about this, John," He then proceeded to dump the pitcher of ice cold water on John's head.

John tensed up and blinked rapidly. "What did you do that for?" he spoke a bit clearer. "Now my chair's wet!"

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and shook him. "How long were you exposed to the package?!" he demanded.

"Dunno," John shrugged. "I went up for a sleep, couldn't, and came down here. An hour?"

John tilted his head to the side, it was still hideously heavy. The back of Sherlock's hand felt nice on the side of his face.

"Dammit, John," Sherlock muttered before turning to go back to the kitchen and properly contain the excess of Nightshade and Wolfsbane.

"No," John reached out and caught his hand clumsily. "You- stay." John's face wasn't acting rationally. His eyes kept blinking on their own accord.

"John, did you eat anything near the package?" Sherlock tried to stay calm, but his tone was still urgent.

"Yes..." John trailed off. He was so tired. So tired.

"Dammit!" Sherlock jerked away and ran to their first aid kit. He quickly found a bottle of syrup of ipecac. He grabbed it and forced John to drink some.

John drank it compliantly, his face scrunching up at the taste only after he had downed it. It was like there was a lag between him and the world.

Sherlock placed a bag under John's chin and gently pushed his head down.

A fearsome bout of nasty took place. John would later remember it as the most caring thing anyone had done for him since his mother had taken care of him as a child. John was in a hideous state, and Sherlock didn't leave for a second of it.

Once he was sure John was done vomiting, Sherlock tied the ends of the bag together and threw it away, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it before returning to his side.

He pressed the cloth to John's forehead and muttered, "Sorry."

John grunted, throat feeling a bit raw. "No... thanks."

"I should have warned you that Molly would be delivering some poisons."

John chuckled weakly. "I shouldn't have been so careless. I must have broken one of the vials when I put it down. Hope it doesn't ruin your experiment."

"It wasn't for an experiment."

John's eyes jumped to Sherlock's, searching for a trace of a lie. "What?"

Sherlock paused and repeated slowly, "It wasn't for an experiment."

"It can't have been- you couldn't have been planning- not again-" His fingers gripped Sherlock's sleeve until his knuckles were white.

"No!" Sherlock gripped John's wrist. "It wasn't for- why would you think-"

John laughed with relief. "Good! Good. That is so, so good." His fingers loosened marginally.

Sherlock's tightened. "Why would you think that I would-" He looked down and pulled away, suddenly remembering why he had left in the first place. "Ah."

John dropped his hands to his lap. "I can't do it without you," he admitted.

Sherlock acted as though he hadn't heard him. "I haven't considered suicide since-" he snapped his mouth shut and winced. He had said too much.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock pressed his lips together and kept his eyes away from John.

"You can tell me," John's eyes were pleading. "I'm your best mate."

He looked down and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to keep himself from remembering.

"Stop if it hurts," John told him. "Just know that it's my personal duty to make sure you never feel that way again."

"I thought you detested the idea," Sherlock muttered.

"What idea? You have so many."

"Of being 'involved'" Sherlock mimicked quotations when he said involved.

John sighed in frustration. "Why can't I love you without kissing you?"

Sherlock frowned in confusion. "I love you without kissing you, except when you're extremely drunk."

"Except when I'm- Did I do that?" John panicked for a second. "I didn't realize that was real. Shit."

"John?"

"I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't get that drunk to- to do something- so significant and not remember. Harry got into some trouble and- I'm sorry. You should never have to have your first kiss with _anyone_ be a drunk one."

"That wasn't my first kiss!" Sherlock looked offended.

"I wasn't saying it was!" John protested. "Well, I may have been heavily implying it-"

Sherlock glared at him.

"Right. That was rude of me," John said awkwardly. A thought struck him. "Wait, it wasn't?"

"Of course not!" Sherlock snapped.

"Then... who?" John waited. "I'm just curious!"

Sherlock contemplated, carefully weighing his options before sighing and admitting, "Irene."

"Aha!" John pretended like he had seen that one coming. He hadn't.

"What?"

"She's not bad. Not bad at all," John nodded appreciatively.

"I don't need your approval, John."

"I'm giving it to you anyway."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood from his crouching position on the floor.

"Here's my curiosity again," John continued. "Was that a relationship? Because I was here the whole time and I never got the notification."

Sherlock rolled his shoulders. "She and Molly were the only ones that knew I was alive during my time away from London. She was a... companion of sorts for a while."

"Oh, so I wasn't there." A pause. "If you had a kid and didn't name it Hamish, boy or girl, I'll be very upset with you."

He rolled his eyes. "Having sex doesn't have to constitute having a child, John."

"So you did!" John exclaimed.

"I never said I didn't," Sherlock defended. "I merely said that you were not my first kiss."

"Well. This has been informative."

"Quite."

"Are we still cross with each other?"

Sherlock glanced down and shrugged, unsure himself.

"I'd rather not be, but let's not ignore anything," John was glad their argument was at least down to a simmer instead of a boil.

"Meaning?"

"I want to make sure we're completely clear with each other, or this will just sprout up again," John clarified.

"Then please," Sherlock flourished his hand. "Define our relationship as you see it and how you wish it to be. I'd hate to get anything wrong again." The last part was said petulantly, though there was an underscore of hurt as well.

"Well," began John, taking a breath in preparation to tread on very shaky ground. "Until today, I was under the impression that we are best mates who live together, work together, and would sacrifice a great deal for each other. I care about you and we're in no way romantically connected."

Sherlock refused to look at John though he did nod reluctantly.

"And judging by what has happened today, you... thought differently."

Again, Sherlock nodded, still refusing to look at him.

"That's where I'm coming from," John finished.

"And?"

"'And?' Am I missing anything?" He paused and then said, "Ah, the future. I... I suppose someday I'd like a wife and a family."

Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded.

"And... you?"

He sighed. "I doubt I would find a woman who'd put up with me for more than a week... other than Irene, of course."

"Right, Irene," John nodded. He didn't want to go back to that.

Sherlock continued, "And I doubt she'd like to ruin her body by having a child. Though, I suppose I could ask her."

A chime from Sherlock's phone. ((I wouldn't mind at all. IA))

"You want kids?" John asked. He'd always assumed that Sherlock would find the idea repulsive.

Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not opposed to the idea."

John's mouth quirked. "I'm sure you'd make a great father. In your own way."

Sherlock shrugged again. "Perhaps."

John imagined tiny Sherlocks running around the flat with unkept hair and magnifying glasses. "Is Irene the settling-down type?"

A chime from Sherlock's phone had him taking it out. His lips curled into a smirk as he read aloud, "'That would be telling, wouldn't it Doctor Watson? IA'"

((Would you prefer to call? I could put you on speaker. JW))

((I prefer to text, Doctor Watson. IA))

((Alright, go on with your flirting without me then. JW))

((You should say yes to his next suggestion, John. IA))

"Next suggestion?" John said aloud.

((It would hurt him less if you said yes. IA))

Sherlock glanced at John with minimal curiosity in his eyes.

((I have to think of the long term. JW))

((So does he. IA))

"Perhaps it'd be best if I deleted this entire situation," Sherlock mused.

"What? Why?" John was confused.

Sherlock shrugged. "To salvage our friendship? To spare you the pathetic attempts to try and sooth my bruised ego and feelings, which you will, undoubtedly be compelled to do?"

((Say yes, Doctor Watson. IA))

"Sherlock..." John struggled with his words. "Are you... asking permission to delete something?" Why would he do that? He's never done that. Is it because it's a memory that's partially mine?

Sherlock looked at him, normally bright eyes now dull. "I'm asking if you have a legitimate reason for me not to do so."

"Um," John said profoundly. "Um."

Pause.

"As long as you're deleting this, I should probably tell you," said John. "I didn't think the drunk kisses were real because you are kind of a recurring subject of my dreams. Alright, go ahead and scrap that. I feel much better."

Sherlock frowned at John and asked, "What are you talking about, John?"

"How much detail do you want?" John asked. He really didn't want to give any.

"About what?" Sherlock glanced down at his phone, reading his latest text from Irene.

((Don't bother, dear. You don't want to know. IA))

"Scratch that, John. Apparently I don't want to know."

"Oh, of course," John nodded. It was gone. The memory was in Sherlock's mental trash bin. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

* * *

A bit of explanation for Sherlock's mental deletion of his supposed relationship with John. This, of course, takes place after his return from his three years away from London after 'The Reichenbach Fall'. Sherlock didn't delete his memories of what has happened in the months following his return, he just removed the 'feelings' aspect of the memories. In his mind, they were just friends the entire time, and this whole thing never happened. No, he doesn't remember saving John from the poisons and he doesn't remember anything from when they first started texting each other this evening. Also, we are aware that syrup of ipecac wouldn't be enough to expel the toxins from John's body, but just pretend in this universe that it was enough.


End file.
